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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157999">i am caught off-guard by you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/narratria/pseuds/narratria'>narratria</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shadowhunters (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alive Aiden, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:22:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/narratria/pseuds/narratria</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Clary, Jace, and Simon, apparently the Shit-ly Queen--sorry, the Seelie Queen--still wants to play with people. Her next target? The wolf pack with a True Alpha. Except it's the resident banshee she's interested in, the one who has cleverly managed to keep a secret for so long. </p><p>or, alternatively: The One Where Lydia is Royally Screwed (Emphasis on the Royal)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aiden/Lydia Martin (past), Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i am caught off-guard by you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title is from "Storm" by Ruelle.</p><p>Of course it's another unbeta'd work. Set somewhere in TW's S4 and SH's S2 but is Canon Divergent. Stalia are broken up. Aiden is alive. </p><p>I love writing Lydia's feelings a lot, after *ahem* someone has hidden them away from Stiles for two fricking seasons.</p><p>I suggest to loop these songs while reading:<br/>Water Under The Bridge - Adele<br/>Gone Away - H.E.R.<br/>Noreg - Skye Townsend<br/>Where Do We Go From Here? - Ruelle</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Who <em>the fuck</em> does she think she is.</p><p> </p><p>One second they were deep under a church in Mexico, negotiating with a scarily-power hungry and equally wealthy leader of a fucking mob to try and save Derek. And the next they’re in another freaking realm. Wonderful. The Seelie Court, as she was informed, is coated as a disguise: vast and long maze-esque forest of blue-green gems and seemingly old trunks which stand tall and crack necks if you try to find its greatest height. So now, instead of burning, her short sleeves and miniskirt are prickling in ice. But they’re still underground. And in imminent danger.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck Araya. Fuck the Calaveras.</p><p>Fuck herself for even bothering to remember their names.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Who I am</em>, is the Seelie Queen. Heir to the throne of The Faerie Kingdom. Apologies for the lack of introduction,” the other redheaded beauty scoffs, and Lydia recoils from the bone-chilling revelation. She does expect that this mystery woman is some kind of Goddess with otherworldly prowess, but not <em>powers</em>. Let alone mind-reading ones.</p><p> </p><p>“If you’re wondering, I’m not reading your mind, Lydia. I’m afraid I cannot,” she puts her hands together in one swoop motion and holds her chin up high. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have resorted to this unconventional method.”</p><p> </p><p>Lydia stops at her tracks. Takes it all in. This... queen (sorry, <em>Q</em>ueen) is clearly built and not made. Based on bold eyes, she can tell this lady holds her graces and utilizes magnificence to—manipulation? Maybe the word is pushing it too far, but when Lydia locks her green eyes to her blue ones, the world grinds into place. Apparent seduction, charm, and innocence are at the stroke of her fingertips. Her diction is slow yet grounded, with an awfully close to a London accent, then exponentially multiply it to sound dickish. Effective, as a couple of guards and <em>oh</em>, lovers, have their heads lowered. Lydia needs more than a few words exchanged to figure out if the bows are out of respect or out of fear. She’s feeling petty right now, so she’ll presuppose it’s the latter.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Oh, we <em>are</em> welcomed, alright. Intimately.” Someone else speaks and all attention is paid to the other side of the room. There, Stiles’ chains rust his plaid shirt after all the contact it’s getting with his spastic movements trying to break out of it.</p><p> </p><p>The corner of the Queen’s mouth lifts. “Your mundane is remarkable. Perhaps you’d like to be acquainted with one who reminds me of you? Simon Lewis. He was also human, then a vampire. Then a Daylighter.”</p><p> </p><p>Lydia’s left eye involuntarily snaps shut and open. The word pings familiarly, pictures a specific page in one of Stiles’ <strike>stolen</strike> borrowed library mythology books. Daylighter: the rare type of vampires who can walk around in the sun. <em>Great</em>. Wendigos exist. Alphas of Alphas. Chemically engineered Chimeras. What more with a couple of Faeries and Daylighters, right? As if they haven’t been dealing with a lot on their plate.</p><p> </p><p>The Queen bats her eyelashes and turns back to everyone else. “Really,” The Queen purrs, “You don’t have to do anything dangerous—”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t have to?”</p><p> </p><p>The response is a two-syllable laugh, more than a chuckle and no humor to it at all. “No knives, no supernatural agility, no real imposed threat involved.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>One grand scheme before they can truly go home.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want?” Lydia is over it. They’ve finally found Derek, albeit only one of two things: alive and safe. (It came from Melissa and Scott, to double-check on their status. Leave it to the ever wonderful and generous McCall’s.) So, cut to the chase.</p><p> </p><p>“I just need a bit of your courtesy. In fact, Simon has gone through this before. Simply tell us what we always tell you—the truth.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>Lydia clenches her teeth, braces herself. The form of the Queen in front of her is one who looks around late 20s, capturing the essence of a beautiful, <em>beautiful</em> woman. No one in the pack has any other sarcastic remarks save for a few narrowed squints and clenching teeth, so the Queen continues.</p><p> </p><p>“In exchange for their freedom: the kiss of death.” Then—</p><p>
  
</p><p>Vines. Emerald plasters of thick skin crawl out of every pack member and onto them, feet entangled and putting up a good fight. They go up until their chests are wrapped and unmoving when the pack members start struggling. Lydia startles in sight and plans to headcount because it looks like Stiles isn’t a part of this—<em>wait.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Lydia knows what that entails. Her platform wedges are digging the skin of the heels so forgive her if her mouth filter is a little unwashed.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Can you stop speaking in vague Old English, we’ve been dealing with bullshit for 16 hours,” Sarcasm is honey dripping, clearly, like she has finally used to weaponize her words. But to the surprise of the Guards, the Queen braces her stomach and throws her head back. The eerie and high-pitched belly-chuckle echoes in and throughout the mist and glitter.</p><p> </p><p>Stops. Scott reactively contracts muscles and pain again, charged with emotion at the mention of death, but flinches in place at the earned glare from the one who stopped laughing.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Need no fret, True Alpha. I’m certain your Banshee completely understands what it means. But since it seems that she is...” The Queen turns to Lydia who hasn’t spoken, biting her lip. “...preoccupied, I suggest either she moves swiftly, or you propose another deal. I doubt you would; I believe the McCall Pack is notorious for being the most diverse in types of creatures, and for being the least violent.”</p><p> </p><p>Lydia is quickly pushed down on the ground. With multiple hands in leathered gloves keeping her at bay, she instinctively acts. The Seelie crosses her arms and drags one foot behind another, the perfect posture slightly tainted. Impressive; the Harbinger of Death bows fully for her. <em>All for her.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Thought you would not let go of your anger, Miss Lydia Lorraine Martin. Perhaps I have underestimated you more than I realized,” the feathers on the crown ruffles as she shifts back to the captured. “But what you have shown is <em>respect</em>, not the truth.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Once the vines reach their necks, all of them will be dead,” Kira and Hayden who are at cruel rest search around for possible helpful objects with turned-on kitsune and beta eyes but fail. With all of Stiles’ long, wandering hands, he lays on the floor, not yet defeated but numb. It’s clear from the beginning when he opened his eyes to the cold and unfamiliar den, he’s the bait. But what do they want from him?</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Dead,” Malia, Aiden, Liam, and Scott go for more brute and less brains, seeing as how they’re thinking with arms adjacent and backs pushed forward. Against the opposite force of the green tightening all limbs.</p><p> </p><p>“Dead.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Lydia forces to relax her shoulders, closes her eyes, and stores her deep breaths. Her ears feel tingly. The temperature rises to her throat and bubbles her insides. The walls are closing, wearing her thin. But. It’s not a premonition, it’s fear. She’s never been this glad to be scared. No one dies tonight. Not on her watch.</p><p> </p><p>Yet, the statement doesn’t ease the tension sitting on her chest. Discarding and discarding more upcoming what-ifs, what-nots, and you-shouldn’ts in the midst of Malia and the others’ warcries, shoes clink to the Southwest. Aiden’s collar is grabbed by manicured hands and—</p><p> </p><p>A collective sigh of relief washes over. Aiden locks lips with Lydia, stunned that it was him <em>because</em>, because everybody else’s thoughts seem to be the opposite of his. Before he can kiss back, the pressure of lips is released, and he’s let go.</p><p>
  <em>I don’t trust her Majesty. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But if we’re going home, then we’re going home.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Lydia’s eyebrows are furrowed as soon as she opens her eyes to see Aiden’s staring at her back. No more lust. No warmth. Just...confusion.</p><p> </p><p>More so, the vines haven’t budged. Still mocking Lydia on each of their torsos. Faint grunts come back from Hayden, pointless screaming from Malia and Liam, disappointed looks from Kira, and Scott—who has been taken the most toll on. He’s holding back. From fighting the vines back or from lashing out; she’s not sure. But he does speak.</p><p> </p><p>“What you’re asking from her has a lot of holes. And how would you know if she is or is not telling the truth anyway if you said it yourself—you can’t read minds.”</p><p> </p><p>“I never said the vines couldn’t either.”</p><p> </p><p>Malia’s turn. “Well, why didn’t it work? Is this for your own sick entertainment?”</p><p> </p><p>The Queen checks her nails absentmindedly, before exhaling and smirking at Lydia<strong>. </strong>“You think you can play the game that easily. What are the three things you cannot hide?”</p><p>
  
</p><p>She flinches<strong>. </strong>“Just let them go—”</p><p>
  
</p><p>“<em>What</em> are the <em>three</em> <em>things</em> you cannot <em>hide, </em>Lydia?” It comes out louder and harsher. She’s losing her temper.</p><p> </p><p>A shaky breath. “The sun, the moon, and the truth.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>This</em> is for the third,” and then Her Highness replies to the coyote, “Why do you think?”</p><p> </p><p>A couple more moans escape the pack’s throats only to be cut-off by the things, raising heads to catch and stall for time. Claws and teeth don’t work—they learned this a few seconds ago the hard way.</p><p> </p><p>“If you make another incorrect attempt, those vines will reverse its intended function. I’m patient, but <em>it isn’t</em>.” The Faerie Queen invades Lydia’s personal bubble and whispers the next sentence. “The person you most desire, Lydia.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>i am torn apart by you</em>
</p><p>
  <em>it’s a spell i can’t undo</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Damn it.</p><p>Dammit! Not here, not right now, not like this.</p><p>Her green eyes plead in agony. But all that it meets with are cold-blooded blue ores. Unmoving, not resentful, expecting. She swears she was going to confess anyway, but it’s the compromise that feels like nine swords to the stomach and bleeding in the corner of lips. Just because they’re not going to die, doesn’t mean they’re not in need of saving.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>oh, I can’t escape it now</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m into deep to get out</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Lydia decides she’ll put herself in a different kind of danger so her pack, her <em>friends</em> cannot put themselves in the other kind—the kind she hates and fears the most.</p><p> </p><p>And it’s then she takes a step forward, almost losing balance. She lets the wheezes and pants overwhelm her senses, gaining an inch of courage every time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A beat.</p><p>And another passes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>you’re taking my heart by storm</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>And then. </em>Then everyone’s eyes are wide open.</p><p>Lydia runs over to the far corner where the heavy chains are still holding down the weight (almost in defeat) and kneels down causing the rough surface to scratch her knees.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>i can’t hold back—</em>
</p><p> </p><p>...and crashes lips with Stiles.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>—anymore</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Huge gushes of strong unwavering wind fly over and through the bodies of everyone else, knocking them side to side if it weren’t for power. Smoke of different shades (Kira detects a few, like scarlet, lavender, azure, amethyst, and of snow) surround the Seelie Realm, but not completely covering what is happening right now.</p><p>Lydia’s hands are fully cupped to either side of his face, feeling another breath hold back instead of escape. Stiles’ eyes blink rapidly in shock but close again as he takes her all in. What he can do is kiss back, not able to reach out to her waist or her chin or her sides, hands left tossed at his back.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>i’m lost in your love</em>
</p><p>
  <em>lost in your love</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Frankly, she just silently prayed to whomever god is watching that they all end up okay and <em>Stiles ends up okay</em> and <em>this is too much</em> she breaks it off quickly—</p><p> </p><p>But before she can register his reaction, she catches a sickly and sweet scent which vaguely resembles maple syrup and SWITCH.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>you’re taking my heart by storm </em>
</p><p>
  <em>you’re taking my heart</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Losing control of sensations and doubts, Lydia only remembers diving in for another taste. It’s not the first time she hasn’t thought in a while but <em>his cupid’s bow lips are so pillowy</em> <em>literally how because they were walking in a desert a few hours ago</em> and she feels the cushioning pressure of his lips kiss back with less than what she’s giving him and the smell is gaining overdrive. She’s gaining the sixth sense of synesthesia at this point because of how much she’s simultaneously hearing and feeling her own heart pound against her chest and it’s making her so dizzy she forces herself to back off.</p><p> </p><p>Whiskey eyes open. She could drown in them, could use one shot of it, or one bottle. Doesn’t matter.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>you’re taking my heart by storm </em>
</p><p>
  <em>you’re taking my heart</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Breathless. Lydia almost slaps herself to get out of the trance and looks back. Scott is helping Liam up to her feet, Malia gives a helping hand to Aiden and Hayden, and Kira retrieves the key from the Queen and approaches to unlock Stiles’ cuffs in chains. No more thick binds, nothing. <em>They’re alive and safe.</em></p><p> </p><p>They all run to the exit, but Lydia stops to watch back and because of that the rest of the pack does too. None of her guards put up a fight, and Her Majesty’s grin is so wide it looks like it hurts.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re part of the problem, you know,” Lydia spits, “Your refusal to help and instead take part in the killings doesn’t make you any less of a bad person.” A banshee from Brooklyn New York has communicated with her, but she won’t admit that bit of information to the Queen. So Lydia takes a step forward and fakes confidence in a long while.</p><p> </p><p>“I can assure you, I helped you, not harmed you.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is not about me. I’m referring to your plan of taking down a Nephilim’s father through his long-lost son.”</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, the Queen falters. But it ends and she covers her initial reaction with a disbelieving scoff. The guards are alarmed once again and nearly tackle, but the Seelie holds up two fingers and they retreat. Lydia breaths harder in retaliation before being pulled back by Scott’s arms and back into the Mexican desert. The words play back.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Very good, Lydia. Not excellent, but. You played well.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Back in the jeep, no one claims shotgun. No one says anything, actually. That’s how Lydia ends up in the front seat—stealing glances in the driver’s and gets caught multiple times for lingering looks. And so she sinks and sinks, the last image before taking a catnap is Stiles: with naturally hallowed pink cheeks even darker and remnants of the latest Macy lipstick shade on his kiss-bitten lips.</p>
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